


these nights (in the red with you)

by orphan_account



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Dark, Drabble, Foreplay, M/M, Teasing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, i don't even know what this is, its sexual though, they're thirsty but this isn't porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28978665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Victor rolled his shoulders tiredly. He swore he could practically hear the bones crunching. “What?”“You,” Roman said, nose wrinkling, “have got blood on your clothes.”--Victor and Roman have a moment in the dark.
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Comments: 1
Kudos: 55





	these nights (in the red with you)

The carpet squelched deliciously as Victor stepped across it, releasing a fresh ooze of blood and a wave of some gory stench into the old factory air. The scent of death was almost overpowering until he moved further away, finding the bucket of warm water he’d placed and dousing his knives in it. The air was thick with silence as he watched the red tinge swirl and expand, contaminate the clearness. It was important to clean them quick; blood congealed fast in the night chill.

The factory was cold, but quiet. More importantly, it was located in the outskirts of Gotham, where only killers and thieves were awake this time of night. The lights were busted from years of neglect but the windows are tall enough, though grimy, to let in enough moonlight to see. 

The presence of the looming factory machines seemed to crowd the room as he worked, gently wetting then caressing the blades with a touch under a cloth. 

The bodies he'd sculpted were laid in a pile behind him, stacked like crude lego bricks, motionless and still dripping fresh runs of blood onto the floor. He thought they looked delightful like that, like an artful tribute to his violence. He smiled at the thought as he dried his final knife and put it away into his case, meticulously placing each in size order. His attention was brought back to the present by the sound of someone clearing their throat.

Roman was sprawled across a moth-eaten divan across the room, looking bored. He tapped a finger to his jaw and made a gesture, pointing at him.

Victor rolled his shoulders tiredly. He swore he could practically hear the bones crunching. “What?”

“You,” Roman said, nose wrinkling, “have got blood on your clothes.”

Victor understood. It was an order not to come any nearer until he cleaned up. Roman hated getting even an inch of himself dirty. He’d long since learned to always bring a spare pair of clothes on all their little outings now. It was either that or a hazmat suit, but Victor didn’t like for his work to feel so… clean. He relished in the messes he managed to create.

He pulled out a black bag from under a half-rotting table where he’d tossed it and fought not to recoil at the smell of decaying varnish. Unzipping it, he began to undress by pulling off his shirt and trousers, absent-mindedly stripping until he was down to nothing but his underwear. The heating in the factory had been busted years back, and the sudden cold made him shiver. His skin crawled with something feverish and dark; suddenly, he could feel Roman’s gaze. Slowly, he reached for the bag.

“That’s enough.”

Victor paused. His breathing stopped.

“Turn around.”

Roman’s tone was light, a little curious, and he sat up as he examined him in silence, still draped lazily over the divan. Slowly, he crossed his legs and uncrossed them. Eventually he beckoned him closer, and Victor came to stand before him, lungs tight.

“Come, sit down.” A pat to the divan.

He sat.

Roman moved closer, closer until it seemed that all he could feel was the faint pulse of his body and the cloying scent of breath and blood. “May I?” he whispered, hands hovering above Victor’s jaw. It wasn’t a question.

Victor tilted his head upwards anyway, into the touch; he felt rough fingers catch his skin and press into his pulse; he could feel Roman’s exhalations. The fingers dipped and began to trace the lines marring his chest and throat; tracing each with a gentle reverence he’d never before seen in Roman. Roman suddenly dug his nails into his skin, sharp. The pain felt numb beneath his touch.

“How many of these are mine?” His eyes were fixed on the scars.

“Most of them.”

“How many?”

His blood buzzed with a sick pleasure. “Nineteen,” he replied. He felt giddy. Their eyes met.

“Do you know,” Roman whispered, “what you are to me?”

His eyes were pools, liquid dark. Victor could not look away. He let out a breath.

“I’m your man,” he whispered. It felt too loud in the still air.

Roman took his jaw into his hand, grabbed it, firm. They were so close now that Victor could smell the scent of his sweat, the tang of his aftershave. His breath. Heady and full. He felt dizzy. He shut his eyes.

“I know exactly what you are,” Roman replied. His breath was hot on his face, his mouth. His skin tingled burned like hot acid. 

Their lips brushed, barely; then Victor grabbed the back of his head and pulled Roman closer until there was no space left between them, only their bodies, meshed and together. The kiss was like fire, devouring them both and choking their lungs for air, snatching it from their lungs until couldn’t breathe. Victor could feel Roman’s erection on his thigh, and his own was pushing the thin fabric of his boxers. Roman clutched at his back, ran his nails down the skin; he gasped at the sting. “Fuck,” he breathed, into his mouth. He felt Roman’s smile against his. He grunted contemplatively. 

“We should, shouldn’t we?”

“Fuck yes,” he breathed. Victor began to pull at Roman’s belt but was slapped away by his hand. “I don’t think so.”

Victor nearly groaned in disappointment, but restrained himself. “ _What?_ ”

“I said you should, not that you could.” Roman smiled, baring his teeth. His eyes gleamed in the half light. “Did you forget? You’re mine. That means you do what I say."

And with that, he got up and began walking to the exit, his body shadowed by the headlights outside.

Victor sat in quiet contemplation for a few more moments before getting up and following. His body still tingled, remembering Roman's cruel strokes across his skin, and he shivered excitedly. He could play his games all he wanted.

Victor would wait.

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell I half assed the ending because I didnt want to write a sex scene- 
> 
> anyways I hope you enjoyed????? as short and thirsty as this was lmao <3


End file.
